Condominium of Small Ideas Looking for a Place to Call Home
by LesBubbles
Summary: A collection of short stories that I wrote, am writing and may write in the future.
1. I Fred and George

**I.**

**Fʀᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ Gᴇᴏʀɢᴇ's Mɪsɢᴜɪᴅᴇᴅ Eꜰꜰᴏʀᴛs ᴀᴛ Bᴇɪɴɢ Sᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛɪᴠᴇ**

* * *

They checked again the night before, curiosity and disbelief running across their faces as they stared at the parchment.

"Fred? Do you think we should tell him?"

"Yeah. He's talking with us less and less, always snapping at people—"

"—and only studying. You're right. This isn't good for him."

"So... what do we tell him?" George asks, tentatively.

"That we support him, of course!"

"But it's—"

"Yes, George, I did not judge you either when you had that crush on professor—"

"Oh would you please stop going on about that? It's been two years!"

"Sorry."

"So we just tell him?"

"Of course we do, we're his family."

That settled that. They both looked at the wall of their dormitory, wondering how they've ended up being the responsible ones. Well, at least Fred is wondering that. George is currently imagining himself in a very heated situation with one of his professors. Damn, did she have a nice ass.

The old parchment spread in front of them showed a rectangle that resembled a room, with two blobs of ink resembling feet, under which were written two words: Peter Pettigrew.

* * *

Damn, this was going to be awkward. At least mum didn't know, that'd make a right mess of things.

"Um, Percy, listen. We need to tell you something," one of the twins starts with a hesitant tone.

"Yes? What is it, George?" Percy replies, looking up from the book he's reading. Fourth year Charms.

"Well, um," George continues, unsure of how to approach the topic.

"I think we should get some privacy," Fred says with a teasing grin. "I'm not sure you want to do this in here." Percy is starting to look uncomfortable, probably wondering what they've got up their sleeves today. Did they really prank him that often? Why yes, yes they did. His grin widens, before he tries to supress it. This situation calls for serious attitudes.

"You wouldn't want everyone to know, right?" George continues as Percy looks from George to Fred and back to George.

"I hope this is not another one of your silly pranks." Percy looks uncertain.

"It's not, Weasley honour!" the both chorus, drawing a cross across their hearts. It was still weird to see them speak like that. And Percy lived with them!

"Okay, lead the way," he nods slightly. They did look serious. But then again, one could never be certain where the Weasley twins were concerned.

* * *

"So what is this thing you did not want us to discuss in the common room?" he asks as the door to the empty classroom closes shut.

"Look, Percy, we really don't want to come across as judgemental, or unsupportive, or anything," Fred starts after a brief silence, George nodding along, "we are here if you need someone to talk to. We promise we won't tell mum before you do—"

"What in Merlin's name are you two talking about?" Percy asks. No, this does feel like a prank, and not an entirely pleasant one.

Fred takes a breath, looks at George, who gestures for him to continue, obviously also lost for words.

"Well, we just want to say that we know of, um, you know," Fred tries again, trying to sound gentle yet suggestive and failing miserably at both.

"No, I do not know. Look, I need to do my essays, if this is your idea of a joke, it is not funny," Percy scowls as he starts for the door of the unused classroom.

"Wait," Fred says, "we really don't mind. Right, George?"

"Yeah," George agrees, "we're cool about it."

Percy knew it. It was a prank. Why did he let himself be talked into this? He is about to open the door when Fred grabs his hand, his eyes a bit wide. "You're not angry with us, right?"

What?

"Fred, George. I really do not know what you two are talking about."

"Percy, there is nothing wrong with preferring to polish broomsticks," George decides to take a leap of faith, his ears turning slightly pink.

Percy looks utterly lost. "But I don't like Quidditch! It is in the air and dangerous and—"

Fred looks at George. George looks at Fred.

Fred nods at George, who nods back. This was going to take all their Gryffindor courage.

"Percy, there is nothing wrong with having sex with another man, we really don't judge you for—"

"WHAT!"

* * *

_Based on a reddit prompt: [Prompt] wherein the twins notice Peter Pettrigrew in be with one of their brothers on the map and awkwardly try to express their support for either Percy or Ron's homosexual lifestyle._


	2. II Operation Acromantula

**II.**

**Oᴘᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ Aᴄʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛᴜʟᴀ**

* * *

Harry Potter was worried. He had been worried ever since he read the letter with his morning toast. His daughter had sent him an owl, one that he was very much hoping was a joke. It had to be, right? Vanishing the dust from the Floo as an afterthought, he nods to Minerva.

"Hello, Harry," she says with a smile. It had been a while. He'd been busy hunting bad people, or so he liked to think. Maybe that was just an excuse, but now was not the time to think about that. "What is this urgent business that you have here?"

"It's Lily," he frowns, "her last letter had implied something very, _very_ bad."

"What exactly?"

"Statute of Secrecy breach on an international level," he replies.

"You've got to be joking, right?" she says in a half-strangled voice, not quite shouting. Yet.

"It's either bad parenting on my part or an international incident, though it is Lily and not the boys… I very much wish it to be just a joke," he says, yet all levity is gone from his face now. "Should I go find her or is there a way for you to call her here?"

"No, no, it's fine, I'll call her," the Headmistress rises, walking over to a portrait and speaking a few words. He catches 'my office' and 'right now'. Handy, those. Even if a bit annoying at times.

"Would you like tea while we wait?" she asks, breaking him out of his introspection.

* * *

There comes a knock on the door. Setting down their cups with dual _clinks_ of china, Minerva calls for her to enter. To their surprise, two girls stepped through the door.

"Headmistress, dad, I presume this is about the letter I sent," Lily speaks before he can ask, "so I brought Sarah with me. She's the reason why I wrote to you in the first place."

"Go on," he prompts with a raised eyebrow as the girls sit down.

"I, um," says Sarah. Not a very good start.

"What is it, child?" asks Minerva. All that Headmistressing must have been rubbing off on her; she was far more gentle than Harry ever remembered. Was it like the Defense curse? Everyone who spent extended periods of time in the office became all soft-spoken and obsessed with making trinkets?

"Um, Mr Potter, I mean," she cuts off, looking at Lily. She just rolls her eyes. Mr Potter? Honestly, that girl knew him since as long as she could remember. And yet—

"What Susan is failing to articulate is that she found a website that exposes Magic to the Muggles over Easter," Lily says. Wha Wha Wha What?

"What's a website?" asks McGonagall, beating Harry to the question.

"A website is sort of like a book, with text and pictures, only it's on the Internet. That's a … place where everyone has access to. So any person who has access to the Internet can see the website. You see? It's like having a book that everyone can open from their own home," Susan explained. "I was looking through a website called WikiLeaks, I think they started last year. They're trying to expose all kinds of conspiracies in the government and stuff and… well, I found a video, a moving picture, of some people doing Magic in the street."

There was silence as both adults processed this.

"Let me get this straight," said Harry. "There's a… Internet—"

"Website, dad," corrected Lily.

"—a website, and anyone can read it, and it breaches the Statute?"

"Yes."

"And exactly how long has this website thing been around?"

"It's the Internet, Mr Potter. Think of it as a library. The websites are books," Sarah tried an analogy. He'd correct her on the Mr Potter part, but now was really not the time. But he always said that. Maybe it really was just an excuse.

"The Internet. How long has it been around?" he asks, carefully snipping the tangent thought off before it starts throwing out self-doubt like confetti.

"For a while now, but it started going public during the 90s. Not many people had computers back then. Those are the devices you need to access the Internet."

"Minerva, does the Muggle Studies mention this in their course?" he asks. He needn't have bothered. He already knew the answer; or at least suspected with reasonable certainty. In the end it was the same.

"No," she replied in barely a whisper, horror in her eyes. He was sure he'd look the same, if he didn't have a career of fighting some very nasty people for a decade or two.

He distinctly recalled Hermione ranting about Muggle Studies in their third—or was it fourth?—year.

_It's terrible, Harry, terrible! The teacher has probably never set foot in muggle London! The book talks about the Victorian Era, for God's sake! 'The Steam Machine is the newest invention of the muggle experimenters, allowing to harness the power of heat to move trains.' she mockingly drew air quotes, talking in what he supposed was an imitation of the teacher._

After a quick mental calculation—his daughter was fourteen now, that was old enough; probably heard worse by now—…

"Fuck."

"Dad!" Lily bursts out at the same time as—

"Mr Potter, behave yourself!" cuts the crisp voice of Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, the bane of pranksters everywhere and the ex-Head of House Gryffindor. "There are children in the room."

"If what they said is true, this is the least of my problems," he observes dryly. "I will take my leave now, it looks like we have a slight problem on our hands. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Miss Longbottom. Lily, Minerva," he hugs his daughter, nods to his former teacher and friend and throws grey powder into the Floo.

And then there were three.

* * *

His morning had been shaping up to be a very pleasant one, it was a Saturday and he was on second-order crisis callback, which was as close to a free day as Harry Potter got. Second-order callbacks rarely happened, there were only so many problems that needed the attention of the Head Auror. It had been shaping up to be a very pleasant morning right until that bloody owl came through the window of their home.

After leaving Hogwarts, he had Floo'd, Apparated, knocked and ended up at the receiving end of a tirade, courtesy of his dearest friend Hermione Granger-Weasley, his primary informant concerning all things muggle. Ten in the morning, apparently, constituted 'early'. He needed someone who could check what Sarah told him, and he thought Hermione might know someone, maybe her parents?

It turned out to be true. She summed it up quite nicely. 'Harry, it looks like you're not sleeping today.' Why was he the one who always had to spearhead the initiative? There was a headache building behind his temples, and it was barely past noon.

At this point, appearances of normality were off. This was a crisis. Casting a wandless banishing charm, the doors to the Auror department fly wide open, startling the Aurors on duty. He slams his hand into the alarm on the wall besides the entrance.

"Listen up, everyone, we have a crisis. Jeremy, go fetch the Minister of Magic, the Heads of DMAC, IMC and the Head Unspeakable. Fifteen minutes, Auror conference room." He was flying way off his procedures, but fuck if he cared. He was Harry Potter, and right now was one of the few times that was useful. He had learned early on that when the right people threw around their weight, shit happened.

"The rest of you, I want a pair of guards at Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, the Ministry guest entrance and the rest of you on standby. There has been a breach of the International Statute of Secrecy, and we don't want things turning ugly. Understood?" A chorus of 'Aye, sir's comes in reply. Good. "There is no need to cause mass panic, so try to be discreet. Alright? I'm getting coffee."

* * *

"I didn't want to break the news for them, sir," says Jeremy. Harry has to admit, that lad is good material. He managed to get everyone in the same room. On a Saturday. Without telling them what the problem was. To be fair, maybe Harry Potter calling an emergency was enough for most people. He was the 'Chosen One' after all.

"That's alright, Jeremy, you did a good job. Go back to the main room and wait on standby, okay?"

"Yes, sir," he says, turns and walks out of the door.

Harry turns to the room, meeting a wide range of faces. Most of them are scowling or worried—nobody likes their weekend interrupted. And then there was Saul. He was smiling. Saul fucking Croaker, the Head Unspeakable. He had the same twisted sense of humour as Alastor, but without the paranoia. He'd find this funny as well. Five people to save the world, yeehaw. Fuck me.

"What is the meaning of this," asks the Minister as soon as Jeremy closes the door. Shacklebolt was never one to dawdle.

"Gentlemen, we have a small dilemma on our hands," Harry starts, spreading his arms wide, lips twisting into a smile dripping irony. "There has been a breach of the Statute of Secrecy, and I have no clue how we can fix it."

"What?" asks Percy Weasley. No, scratch that. That was a shout. Quite the reaction for such a distinguished politician, eh? Plus one point for Harry Potter.

"I was alerted this morning that a moving picture of wizards doing magic is on a website called WikiLeaks by young Sarah Longbottom," he starts explaining.

"What do you mean, it's on WikiLeaks?" asks Saul.

"What is WikiLeaks," asks Percy.

"Good questions, gentlemen. Wonderful questions. One: My guess is as good as yours. Some teenager was probably stupid. Two: aren't you supposed to be the leading expert on all things muggle, Percy?" That Department needed some reforms. If reforms weren't hidden behind the mountain called bureaucracy, he might actually try. But right now? No thanks.

"Maybe they caught it on camera. We have been dealing with that for over half a century. Is this similar?" says Percy, stroking his chin in thought.

"Do you have any contingencies for what happened, then?" Croaker asks. Maybe this isn't that big of an issue after all.

"No," Percy replies with visible reluctance.

"So there is evidence that magic exists, available for anyone to see, and we have no way to fix it? How wonderful!"

"Nice summary, Saul, but you're not helping," Harry says. But he did get the gist of it, he had to give him that.

"Oh, I know, we'll get there in a moment. Edward, why don't you try to get an ICW emergency meeting scheduled as soon as possible? I believe it's time for Operation Acromantula to go public."

"Operation Acromantula, Croaker? What's that," Percy asks after Scot leaves.

"Why, my dear friend, we're dealing with the web here!" he replies genially, smiling wide. Harry chuckles. Good old Saul. Maybe today wasn't going to be so bad after all.

"Hey Saul, should I go get you a mascot from Hagrid?" he asks as Percy pinches the bridge of his nose. Shacklebolt looks like he's trying to hide a smile.

* * *

**A/N:** This was a lot of fun to write! Let me know if you'd like to see this as its own story someday, and it might just happen :)

_Based on a reddit prompt: [Prompt] "What do you mean, it's on WikiLeaks"_


End file.
